


Piloting Through a Storm

by mikeymagee



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, blackinfanfiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikeymagee/pseuds/mikeymagee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FN-2187 never had a name...he had gotten his namesake from the streets of his old home. Foster Street, and Norris Avenue. Zip-code 2187. High school is hard enough when you're still learning about your identity. But what if you don't even have that? (High School AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He never had a name. Not really. Being bounced around from foster home to foster home wasn't exactly the best thing for a growing child. There was nothing to keep him grounded, nothing to confirm a sense of identity. Just a swift change from one empty home to the next.

They had tried to find a suitable name, each house, each foster family, with their knowing smiles, and their gentle hands. "How about Adam?" one of them asked him, "You look like an Adam to me."

And it was like that from one place to another. From Adam, to Peter, to Stewart to Brian, a different name that never seemed to fit. Social Services always called him by his number, his old address that never held any meaning for him. Foster Street, and Norris Avenue, Zip code: 2187. FN-2187.

The closest thing he had to a name, and the only thing he could call a past. An old home he could not remember, and parents who perished before their son could even be ordained properly.

FN-2187…but could that really be called a name?

* * *

"Young man? Can you hear me?"

FN-2187 glanced up from his paper, scrawled with doodles and notes, and whatever else his mind dared to conceive of. Classes at First Order Prep were nothing less than brutal. All day running drills, advanced calculous, hardly any time for meals, and a distant judgement that followed every student that walked its halls. First Order Prep was known throughout the city for its great reputation. The best academics, the best sports teams, the best teachers, and the best discipline.

"Young man!"

FN-2187, glanced from his paper, and up towards the board. The classroom, his classroom, filled with watchful eyes. "Y-yes sir?" he asked.

The teacher, a lifeless drone who only knew of back taxes, and discipline, scowled and pointed to the front of the board, "The answer, young man!" Most teachers did not know how to refer to him, his foster mother, Ms. Phasma, was more than willing to call her "son" by his old home address…it was the perfect way to keep him at a cold distance. But with teachers, they simply went to calling him "young man", as if that were any better. It wasn't.

The classroom was filled with other students. Children of different creeds, shades, sizes, all packaged into a white, crisp uniform. Iron slacks for all students, regardless of gender, and pressed white button downs, that were never to be sullied. The honor of First Order Prep began with the image of its students.

FN-2187 stood up, walked to the board, grabbed his chalk and wrote. He loved his school…mostly. But when we walked down the halls of First Order Prep, he couldn't help but feel there was something wrong. The students were all the best in the city, and with Principal Snoke running the place, it was sure to stay that way. But, that couldn't be all there was to it, right? There were regulations here, but little else. They had standards, but nothing to fight for.

"Very good young man," his teacher said. FN-2187 nodded his thanks and returned to his seat. "You can all learn from FN-2187," his teacher said.

A school with no direction, was like a man with no name.

The bell rang, and the students filed out, one after the other in a perfect rhythmed march. First Order prep was one of those schools parents clamored to get there child into so that they can be set on the path to greatness from birth. First Order Elementary, to First Order Middle, until their final destination, here. FN-2187 had only gotten in because his foster other had known Vice Principal Hux.

Everything here was so…sterilized. Even on the football fields, where FN-2187 had practiced his tackles, the dirt seemed to lack any kind of substance. There was nothing to stick to his skin, to stain his shirts, to make him feel as though he were worthy of getting back up again. Every student at First Order High was required to be on a sports team, participate in an academic program, and take part in the school's ROTC program. It wasn't that FN-2187 had had an interest in the army…he just didn't have a choice. But football…football was something different entirely.

On the fields, and in the locker rooms, he felt as if he were a part of something grander than himself…but at the same time, he could feel the strange conformity of his institution suffocating him. Football players were the boys to watch, the thing Vice Principal Hux loved to show off the most. The Stormtroopers, the greatest team the city had ever known. Some of the alumni had even gone off to play in the NFL. They were the pride of First Order Prep. And they all knew it.

"Hey, 87!"

FN-2187 turned to see Slip approaching him through the crowed halls. Slip, like himself, was on the football team. Slip walked with all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates. He was clumsy, he never really looked where he was going, and when it came to football plays, he could never keep them straight. But…he was still FN-2187's closest friend in the whole team. It was Slip that had given him the name 87, at the very least, it was easier to call out commands when his name wasn't so long.

"Slip," 87 called back, "You headed for football practice?"

Slip nodded, "Yeah…I hear Kylo Ren's got a surprise for the whole team," Slip slung his book bag from one shoulder to the other, "A way to get the team amped up for our fight against Resistance High."

Resistance High, if First Order Prep had anything resembling a "rival" it would be that school. Resistance High wasn't exactly a top school, it had moderate academics, and a passable sports program, but there was something at that school that almost made Vice Principal Hux, nervous. Something he didn't like.

"What kind of surprise is it?" 87 asked. Kylo Ren, or Ben, was the captain of that team. Pretty much the golden boy for Principal Snoke. He had the top grades. The top attendance. The top sports records. The poster boy for First Order excellence, and yet, behind closed doors, he acted like every other teenager. Spoiled. Angry, and growing too fast to comprehend. While most leaders led by example, Kylo Ren ruled by fear and intimidation. Once, he had even used the entire football team to haze one of the freshmen who missed a pass during practice. He never stepped onto a football field again.

When it came to the football players, Kylo (and, he hated to be called Ben) was given free reign. Principal Snoke didn't seem to care what went on as long as the team kept winning.

The locker rooms were just like the classrooms, clean, pristine and without any kind of dirt to make it authentic. The lockers were white and smelled of lemon zest, even the sweat from the players backs seemed artificial, as if being human were a luxury they were not afforded.

Kylo Ren, dressed in his black jersey, with the number 0 painted on the back, stood at the front of the locker room. He, and he alone, was the only one allowed to step outside of the First Order's conformity. Being Principal Snoke's pet must have had its perks.

"Hello team," Kylo said. He walked through the horde, his hands behind his back like a general. "You are First Order Prep's finest," he said. It was strange, he spoke as if he were a general, a leader who did not know fear, but his voice always belayed a subtle fear that most people could not pick up…well, 87 could. And he always did, perhaps that was why Kylo always seemed to have it out for him. "Failure is never an option for us."

The same speech that 87 had heard since he was first drafted here. Failure is not an option. Weakness shall not be tolerated. Do it right, or the consequences will be dire.

"And so…" Kylo motioned for the players behind him to come forward. The infamous Knights of Ren, were the biggest gang in the school. When VP Hux, and Principal Snoke weren't around to enforce their laws, the Knights of Ren would do it for them. They kept the school in fear, and the sports teams in line. Nothing less than the best for First Order Prep. "…we have a guest with us today."

Two, large football players, Zeroes and Nines, stepped forward, carrying a bag that looked to be the size of-

"Wait," 87 said, "I-is that bag moving?"

Kylo Ren smiled, "Yeah it is." The boys dropped the bag onto the floor, and it hit the hard pavement with a thud. "Stormtroopers, I would like you all to meet someone very special." Kylo opened the leather bag, and pulled a young man out into the cold light. His hands tied behind his back, and his shirt covered in clay and mud. His hair was disheveled and matted to his forehead.

"K-Kylo," 87 said, his voice dropping to his stomach, "What the hell did you do?"

"This is Poe Dameron, Captain for the Resistance High football team." Kylo Ren grabbed a fist full of Poe's hair and grinned, "Say hello, boys."


	2. Chapter 2

"Ben, what the fuck did you do?" 87 could only stand in silence as the Stormtroopers captain bent down to show off their new "guest." The players crowded, gawked, and slapped the backs of the others. Were they proud of this? How the fuck could they be proud of this?

"Listen 87," Kylo Ren said, "I told you never to call me 'Ben', and second," he glanced down at Dameron, "First Order Prep is not about to let some rinky-dink public school ruin our perfect reputation." He grabbed a fist-full of Poe's hair, and yanked his head to the ceiling, showing off the black circles around the young man's eyes. "Our guest here," Kylo began, "Has agreed to donate Resistance High's playbook to our little cause." Kylo grinned and roughly pulled against Dameron's hair, "Ain't that right buddy?"

Poe looked away, his eyes glimmering against the locker room's inauthenticity. "Go fuck yourself, Ben." There was something within Poe Dameron. A kind of unclean purity that made Kylo Ren bite his lip and scowl. It was the exact same spirit that Principal Snoke hated about Resistance High.

"Well," Kylo said, "Don't worry. We'll convince you otherwise." He shrugged and pushed Dameron onto the floor, "We here at First Order Prep have a saying, 'No mercy'."

The Knights of Ren picked Poe up by his letterman jacket, and shoved him into the school's shower. Poe struggled, ripped against their strong arms, and knocked his head against anything that came too close. He fought valiantly, but the two Knights of Ren who held him were too powerful. He never stood a chance. They shoved him into the shower and closed the curtain. Kylo Ren looked on, a small smile creeping over his face.

 _This ain't right._ 87 knew First Order was ruthless, he had gone to this school long enough to know that, but this was a completely different situation all together. This was kidnapping. Extortion. Strong arming someone weaker than you. Everything FN-2187 knew to be wrong. "Ben!" 87 said, "You can-"

But Slip grabbed onto FN-2187's shoulder, gently pulling back into the crowd, "87," Slip whispered, "Don't."

87 looked back and scowled. Slip knew that look, the same bold eyes that First Order Prep was never able to beat out of 87. It was so strange, this school had managed to beat, strip and conform every student that had walked through its halls, and yet FN-2187, the boy without a name to call his own, had managed to keep hold of some form of an identity.

"Is there a problem, No-Name?" Kylo Ren asked as he stepped forward. Kylo was not one to allow his subordinates to question his methods. Principal Snoke had placed him in charge, and he would be damned if he let some foster boy get in the way of his plans.

"There's no problems sir," Slip said, gently shoving 87 behind him. "We're just really excited to beat those Resistance bastards is all."

Kylo Ren's eyes never left 87's, "Get on the field, and start practice," he growled, "I'll be there shortly."

87 swayed, his eyes still locked on the closed shower curtain, and the prisoner who was still trapped inside. This wasn't right. They all knew this wasn't right. But there wasn't anything they could do. Kylo had complete reign, the Stormtroopers didn't even have a proper coach. Every time a new one came, Kylo and his gang ran him out of the school…and the principal never had a problem with it. In the First Order, it was Kylo's way, or nothing.

"I said go," Kylo said. And the team filed out of the locker room, helmets and pads clinking against one another as they moved in single file. One after the other. And as 87 walked through the school halls, he heard the faint thundering of fist against stomach. Over and over.

* * *

Practice was intense, as it always was. Drills, yells, suicides, passes, throws, and the Knights of Ren breathing down everyone's neck. But 87 couldn't exactly focus. The football field was still shaking off the last remnants of summer. Autumn was approaching, and the Principal was riding them even harder. No weaknesses. No surrenders. Either win, or you're worthless.

Kylo Ren exited from the locker room with his helmet under his arm. The day was drawing to a close, and night was beginning to settle in. Kylo glanced over to the other knights, and gestured for them to come over. The rest of the team grabbed the footballs, and pushed the tackle dummies towards the school shed. 87 glanced to Slip who was busy wiping the mud off of his uniform. The Stormtroopers weren't known for taking it easy on anyone, even their own men.

FN-2187 slowed to a hurried jogged, keeping his ear tuned to Kylo and the others' conversation.

"How was it?" one of the Knights asked.

Kylo just shook his head, "He still hasn't cracked."

"That son of a bitch," another Knight said, he crossed his arms glared. "We need that fuckin' playbook. Principal Snoke's been riding us even more."

"You think I don't know that?" Kylo asked, his voice raising, and then gently falling to a whisper. None of the other players needed to see him this weak, "We'll make him talk." His voice carried a hardened determination that pierced like a laser. "No matter what."

_No matter what._

87 knew what those words meant. A distilled bloodlust. A dark ambition that could not be stopped. There were other players who were not up to Kylo's standards who…disappeared. Some say they transferred to other schools, but 87 knew that couldn't be the case. Not with Kylo and the Knights, they weren't that kind.

FN-2187 might not have known what their plans were…but he wasn't going to let them conduct them against Poe. Not while he was still breathing. As the other players were finishing up, 87 glanced to his left. He could slip back into the locker room undetected, the others were too exhausted to take notice, right? And Kylo and the Knights already believed him to be beneath their notice.

He grabbed a football, and tucked it underneath his arm. _Play it cool, man_. He told himself. He marched passed the groups of players. Even during this one act of rebellion he still felt the tendril of First Order Prep pulling at him. This is wrong. It told him. Turn around. It screamed. But he did not listen. Something deep inside of him kept him pressing on. An overwhelming need to keep an innocent person from being hurt.

He checked his rear, and no one was in pursuit (really, the military lingo they had at this school was kind of overkill). He pushed the heavy door that lead to the locker room. He had to hurry, if he were caught here, who knows what would happen. His hands shook, and his mouth ran dry, but he pushed on.

"Hello?" he called. He stepped forward, ran his fingers against the latex curtain…and pulled. "Holy shit."

Poe Dameron, captain of the Resistance High football team, laid against the shower floor, his head smashed against the ground. Blood seeped to the drain, and his eyes were glazed in a frosty haze. 87 bent down, and examined Poe's face. Blood had dried to the corners of his mouth, and his hair was pulled in so many directions. His breathing was ragged, and his body was deadly still.

"Shit," 87 said. "This isn't right." He gently shook Poe's shoulders, "Dameron," he whispered, "Dameron, come on. You've gotta get up." He wrapped Poe's arm around his neck, trying to keep the young man upright. "Hey," 87 shook him harder, "I need you to get up. Come on, please."

The others would be back at any moment, the Stormtroopers, the Knights…and Kylo. And if they caught him here, helping the enemy-

FN-2187 shook his head, banishing those thoughts from his mind. He had to concentrate. Now wasn't the time to get soft hearted, he needed to get Poe out of here before-

The locker room door flung open, and slammed against the wall. The smell of sweat and blood entered the locker room, invading whatever peace the locker room once had. "Get your shit, and get out," Kylo Ren barked. The team was back.

"Oh no."


	3. Chapter 3

"Stay calm," he told himself. 87 glanced down to Poe Dameron, the guy was knocked out and hanging off of 87's shoulder like an animal. He was heavy, and with every move 87 made, Poe let out a small, unhurried moan.

"Shhh," 87 said. This was bad. If he knew Kylo Ren (and 87 had dealt with that prick enough times to know his mind) the first thing he'd do is check on his little "guest". The rest of the players opened their lockers, stripped themselves of their uniforms, and grabbed their book bags. When Kylo Ren said to hurry and get out, the Stormtroopers did as ordered. There was never any room for debate when it came to Kylo Ren. Lots of times Kylo and the other knights would work the players so hard they would forget to close their lockers.

"Wait," 87 whispered, "…the lockers."

It never failed. The Stormtroopers were worked so hard that some of them forgot to close their locks after practice. Even 87 was guilty of this from time to time, when his mind was so filled with drills, and dirt that he didn't have the energy to even think let alone close his lock.

Right next to the showers, was Slip's locker. For the past three weeks Kylo had been riding Slip the hardest. Honestly, it was most likely due to the fact that he was the closest friend FN-2187 had. Kylo was never above turning teammates against each other. And just like many other players that day, Slip had forgotten to close his locker.

"Yes," 87 whispered.

Kylo Ren watched as the other players funneled through the door. A sick grin on his face. It was like clockwork. He loved to give orders, and even more so, he loved to watch those orders being carried out.

First Order Prep had state of the art everything. State of the art computers, state of the art sporting equipment, and state of the art lockers. The lockers stood tall and sleek against the white walls. They were easily wide enough to fit on person inside (and 87 knew, he had been shoved in his plenty of times). However, he couldn't just stash Poe inside and leave. In Poe's current condition, he wouldn't be able to stand up right, and who knew was further damage that would cause him? If this was going to work…87 would have to be with him every step of the way.

FN-2187 wrapped Poe's arm around his neck, and gently made his way over to Slip's locker. Kylo might have been the school's resident golden boy, but his ego often allowed things to slip by him. Case in point, he was so enamored by the Stormtroopers carrying out his commands, he did not notice 87 slip himself and Poe Dameron into the nearest locker.

FN-2187 had been used to being under everyone else's notice, but not once had he imagined it would come in handy. He stuffed himself, and Poe inside Slip's locker, and gently closed to door just enough to give the illusion of solitude. No one checked lockers at First Order prep anyway, and a locker that was slightly ajar wasn't exactly out of the ordinary. Hopefully, no one would be the wiser.

It was a tough fit for the two boys. FN-2187 who had built up enough bulk to be a running back, and Poe Dameron who was slim, but still had enough muscle mass to possible knock over a truck. The silver walls squeezed them both together, so much so that 87 could feel Poe's breath on his neck. So much so, that 87 could smell Poe's aching muscles. So much so…that their heartbeats felt like one singular song.

"Get that son of a bitch out of the showers," Kylo said, "I ain't done with him yet."

FN-2187 held Poe tightly against his chest.

One of the Knights of Ren pulled back the shower curtain, only to find tile. He glanced back to Kylo," Uh…Ben-" he stopped himself midsentence, "I mean, Kylo, we've got a problem."

Kylo Ren looked towards the player, murder sinking into his eyes, "What do you mean, 'Problem'?"

He pulled the curtain back further. "Poe Dameron's gone."

The room braced itself. A silent hush that engulfed all who were present, even 87 who had hidden himself away.

"What?" Kylo asked.

The Knight dared not repeat himself, he knew better. Ben Solo, or rather Kylo Ren, was not one to take bad news well. Dropped passes often resulted in tantrums where he would tear half the school up in shreds. Books were torn, trash cans were knocked over. Anyone who was unlucky enough to be in his line of sight, often regretted it.

But Kylo Ren did not move from his spot, he did not check the showers to see if this news was true. He did not scream, or punch the walls, or slam the trash cans into the lockers…he did nothing. And that scared FN-2187 even more.

"Let's just get the fuck out of here." Kylo went into his locker, grabbed his bag and left the room, a slight chill wafting through the room. The Knights of Ren followed their leader, one after the other, single file in First Order Prep fashion. Complete conformity.

"This," FN-2187 whispered, "Isn't gonna be good."

* * *

The one good thing about First Order prep, was how close it was to 87's foster home. He could walk there every day, and not have to worry about being inconvenienced. It was at best a ten minute walk…except tonight, with Resistance High's captain slumped against his shoulders, that walk seemed more like an hour. Every five minutes, 87 had to stop, readjust himself, check Poe's pulse to make sure he was still alive, and then carry on. It was exhausting. And when he finally arrived home, his body was as worn out, and beaten as Poe's.

FN-2187's house was just as personable as his school. Ms. Phasma, 87's foster mother, was never one for warmth, and her house reflected that. The walls were of a polished chrome that offered no comfort. The sofas were wrapped in plastic, a way to keep them fresh, and the floors were pure tile. So when the winters came, it was as if the house were an ice box. Home sweet home, right?

FN-2187 placed Poe onto the couch, and the man's body slipped and slid against the plastic. There had to be a first aid kit somewhere, right? It was one of the requirements for a foster home, but Ms. Phasma was never one to keep up with it. FN-2187 could go look for it, rummage through the cabinets, but he didn't want to leave Poe's side. What if his conditioned worsened? What if he woke up? What if there was an emergency with his heart, and no one was there to help him? So many possibilities…too little solutions.

And, if 87 were being honest with himself, he didn't really want to leave Poe's side. There was something…different about the young man. Poe Dameron's face was smooth, and yet a small trace of a beard graced his chin, as if he had planned on shaving this morning, but didn't really feel like it. His hair flopped over his face, and yet it still held some form of volume. His chest rose up and down in a steady dance. Up. And down. Up. And down.

Were all the kids of Resistance High like this? So…abnormal? No regiment to keep them in line? No order to suffocate them? FN-2187 reached out his hand, his fingers spread out across Poe Dameron's face. Palm against chin. Fingers engulfed in silk hair. He was so handsome.

Poe's eyes began to stir, slowly rising into the light. A warm hand on his face. And he was greeted, by the beautiful brown eyes of a stranger. Warm. Soft. But hiding and iced pain that seemed to be whispering, "I'm lonely."

He smiled, and gently held the stranger's hands in his own. "Well, hello there handsome."


	4. Chapter 4

Poe Dameron…was awake. 87 blinked, and then he rubbed his eyes, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. The chrome walls, and plastic couch were still the same…normally when he dreamed, it was of beaches and ice cream sundaes. So yeah…he was awake.

"Poe Dameron?" he asked. Without thinking, FN-2187 rose from the floor, and raced towards the kitchen. Poe was awake…and he was still injured. Where was that first aid kit again? 87 raced through the cabinets, throwing pans, and plates out of his way. Poe was awake. 87 had a guest in his house. In _his_ house. There was protocol for this right? Offer your guest a drink? Get him something to eat. FN-2187 jerked the refrigerator door open, and yanked out a cold jug of whatever-the-hell Ms. Phasma made last night. He grabbed cups, and spoons, and-

"Shit," 87 said, "The First Aid Kit." He placed the jug down, an-

"Uh…" Poe stood, his arms folded and legs crossed, at the entrance of the kitchen. An easy smile across his face, "Are you alright in here buddy?" Poe moved with great ease, and confidence. No matter where he was, or what he did, it felt like the world was welcoming him. He walked in, and gently placed his hands around the jug and poured himself a glass…and then another for his host.

"Y-you really shouldn't be up," 87 said. He tried to sound like his foster mother Ms. Phasma, cold and unattached, but his voice squeaked when he got nervous…and Poe Dameron made him so very nervous. "You're injured, I-I should-"

"You should come back to that plastic couch of yours," Poe said, thumbing to the living room, "And explain what's going on." He grabbed his glass, and turned around, "Come on handsome, don't keep me waiting…I get lonesome." 87 could practically taste the smile on Poe's lips.

FN-2187 grabbed a box of Oreos, some chips, and a wet rag. If he was going to be a good host, he would need to make sure his guest was comfortable…and not bleeding to death. 87 sat down, placed the snacks on the table, and took up his rag. He patted the side of Poe's head, examined his face for hidden cuts and scrapes. He pressed the rag down against Poe's forearm, at least that would stop the bleeding until they could find the damn first aid kit.

"You still haven't given me an explanation," Poe said as he downed the last of his drink, "Or given me your name…which I guess I should have asked for first." Poe shrugged, "But Handsome seems to be a pretty fitting name too, so..."

"Uh…" 87 looked away. "Sorry, the guys from my football team-"

"Shit, that's right!" Poe said, slamming his fist down onto the plastic coverings, "Those bastards jumped…and then…" he rubbed his temple, as if trying to bring the memories back, "…they tied me up…and kicked the shit outta me."

Yeah, that sounded like the Knights of Ren alright. "Yeah," 87 said, "They did a real number on you."

"Which brings me to my next question," Poe Dameron grabbed the jug on the table and poured himself another glass, "Who are you, and what am I doing here?"

"I," 87 said pointing to himself, "Am the guy who got you out of there alive, and this," he said waving his arms around, "Is where I live."

And Poe's cocky smiled returned, "You rescued me?" he asked. Poe laughed, and slapped 87 on the back, a gesture that seemed to warm and open to be true. "Well, I've gotta say, you're the best Knight in shining armor I've ever had."

"Knight in shining armor?" 87 asked. He didn't know which was stranger, that someone was referring to him as a "Knight" or that Poe Dameron, apparently, had had more than just one rescuer.

"Of course!" Poe said, grinning ear to ear, "You rescued me, that makes you my own personal superhero." Poe rubbed his chin, "Never had one a' those before."

Or perhaps, 87 was the first.

"Listen," Poe said, "A newly rescued damsel like myself can't go around not knowing who his knight-in-shining armor is, right? So, you gotta name?"

He didn't. Not in the actual sense. Not in the, "Hello, my name is…" sense. Because for the longest time, wherever he went his name changed. When he lived with the Smiths, his name became Adam. When he lived with the Jeffersons, his name became Jake. When he lived with the Flynns, his name became Garrett. FN-2187 was his name. The thing people called him at First Order Prep, this thing his foster mother knew him by. With those people, it wasn't what your name was that was important. It was what you did.

"FN-2187," he said. "My name is FN-2187."

"FN-whaa?" Poe asked, his face turning a sharp pale. For a second, 87 thought his injuries were acting up again. "T-that's your name?" Poe asked.

87 just shrugged, "It's kind of a long story, but yeah, that's my name."

"Do people shorten it? L-like with a nickname, or something?"

"Sometimes they call me 87."

Poe tilted his head, "And that's what you're called? Every day?"

87 nodded. Granted, it wasn't much of a name…but it was still his name. "It gets the job done."

"Alright, you First Order Prep guys are strange…but if that's your name…cool." Poe plucked an Oreo from the table and shoved it in his mouth, "But, you never went by anything else? Like…one a' those names guys call each other to sound cool? Like Blaze, or Rocky…or something'?"

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't. The one thing FN-2187 had never told anyone, not even Slip, was that he loved Misfits. A British television show that he watched late at night on Youtube. 87 often wondered what it would be like to have some kind of power, to move things with his mind, or be able to fly anywhere at all. Misfits was kind of an escape from the regimented like of Ms. Phasma and First Order Prep.

And his favorite character…was Finn. FN-2187 always felt some kind of a connection to Finn. Finn was the guy who was eager to please. Finn was the one who wanted to make everything alright. Finn was the guy who tried hard to do the right thing (mostly). Finn was someone FN-2187 saw every time he looked in the mirror. Just a guy who was often in over his head.

"I'm pretty partial to the name Finn." 87 said. He had never actually told anyone that. Not his friends. Not his guardian. Not his teachers. He had always been content to just be "Young Man" or 87, or that kid who refused to step out into a bigger world. But…something deep inside told him all he did before, was no longer an option. Something was awakening…but he did not know what.

"Finn, huh?" Poe asked, "That's a pretty sweet name. Alright, I'm Poe." He shoved out his hand, "Good to know you Finn."


End file.
